


The Price of Failure

by ManaIza



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Chapter Lengths Vary, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Experimental Style, Eye Trauma, Gore, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, POV Second Person, Self Harm, Slavery, and the void stares back and makes you sad, i'm here to break hearts, if you're looking for happiness look elsewhere, kind of, this is the fic that comes about by staring into the void, triggers noted on specific chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManaIza/pseuds/ManaIza
Summary: Dear Edward Grenore,We are sorry. We are so, so sorry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the character study nobody asked for but everyone is getting  
> started this sometime last year and never finished it but new year new me am i right let's get this fic finished this year boyyssss  
> inspired by The Price of Failure by Perturbator so go listen to it

A child sits upon a stool at a table all by his lonesome. This child has white locks of hair that barely reach the nape of his neck, and looks as if it hasn’t been brushed; instead, its appearance is that of one that has been playfully ruffled with a loose lock on top. Perhaps the color is inherited by one of his parents, or maybe it is a genetic deformity that the parents weren’t expecting. This curious color is complemented by eyes that are pink, and that has to be some type of genetic deformity, right? Ah, but here we are mulling over what is and isn’t natural while this child seems to be working on something.

And working on something he is. The child’s hands are so small yet so diligent as they work to assemble something just as small. If one looks closely, it seems to be an engine of sorts. If one looks closer still, now we can see that not only are these hands diligently working to put this engine together but they are also...shaking? And where are these drops of water coming from?

A child sits upon a stool at a table all by his lonesome. He works to assemble a small engine for a reason unknown to us. Is it a hobby? Little boys like to take things apart and then put things back together, right? Maybe that is why he is doing it. He seems to have a few sheets of paper next to him, all scrawled with equations and diagrams and the diagrams are a little sloppy but that is to be expected from a child, and some of the equations are incorrect but that is also to be expected from a child.

Oh! He’s put the engine down to wipe at his eyes, and then add a little note to a sloppy diagram. Perhaps he is tired. Perhaps he is going to bed.

_I hope this is good enough for Father…_

Do you hear that? Those are his thoughts, and they are gentle and tender thoughts that should be treasured.

_Mother’s flowers are doing well… I hope I can see them again tomorrow._

A child sits upon a stool at a table all by his lonesome. It seems he is done assembling the small engine. He places it aside on top of his papers, and then he stands up to move to his bed.

A child crawls into bed as a nearby clock on the wall chimes. Once, twice, three times, and then four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. It is midnight and far, far past this child’s bedtime.

_...It’s kind of cold in here..._

This child is Edward Grenore.

This child is you.

Your name is Edward Grenore, and you are loved by your mother and father.

But if you are loved, why are you alone? If you are loved, why are you crying? If you are loved, why are you so afraid of tomorrow?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> father of the year

“You ruined this!!”

What is that? That is not the voice we heard yesterday. That is not the voice of a gentle boy with diligent hands. That is not your voice. That is not you.

“I’m… I’m sorry father…”

Ah, now _that_ is your voice. It is gentle, but not a good gentle. It is the voice of one who wishes to mitigate any damage that may come their way. It is the voice of somebody who desperately wants things to end happily. It is the voice of one who is scared. Let’s take a look, and see what you see.

You are in your room, staring at the engine that you were working so hard on last night. You sit upon your stool at your table, but this time you are not all by your lonesome. There is another, taller person. He looks like you with short white hair and pink eyes, and it must be where you got your features from. That is where the similarities end, however. There is nothing gentle about him. While your hair is gently ruffled, his hair is flat. While your eyes are wide with innocence, his eyes are hard with cruelty. Strange, for you to resemble him and him to resemble you and yet it is only by hair and eye color.

How rude of us, to turn a blind eye to what is happening. Appearances aren’t important right now.

You are in your room watching this man pick up the engine your small, small hands had been so diligently working on assembling last night. He throws it against the wall. The engine, once tended to with care, is now splintered and shattered and broken and you don’t know what to do except continue to stare up at this man. You know it has made a mess of both the floor and the wall.

“How can you be so stupid? It’s like this with you every single time, Edward!!” He grabs you by the collar of your shirt. It is a white shirt, one that you button up every morning and adorn with a cute little black bow. He is so angry, so so _so_ angry. You are so scared, so so _so_ scared. You reach up to grab at his wrist because you want him to let go and your eyes are wide but not with innocence and instead with fright.

This man throws you on to the ground as if your touch would scald him. His eyes are full of rage. Of frustration. Of disappointment.

“You waste my time and my materials. Lessons are canceled for today. I can’t stand looking at you.”

You are in your room and you are not sitting upon your stool in front of your table all by your lonesome, nor is there a man still standing over you, but instead you are sitting up from being thrown down by a man who seems to see you as nothing but a burden. The engine, now shattered and broken, lays upon your floor in bits and pieces and you crawl over to it to clean it up.

_I messed up bad… He was really angry this time…_

Your thoughts are still so gentle and so kind, but they are also scared, and your hands are shaking as you pick up the pieces of something that used to be whole.

You are in your room and you are not sitting upon your stool in front of your table all by your lonesome, but you are instead kneeling on the ground all by your lonesome and trying to pick up the pieces of something you once handled with so much care and yet was broken in an instant by a man that looked just like you, but only in hair and eye color.

This man is Asker Grenore.

This man is your father.

You are Edward Grenore, and you are loved by your mother and father, or so you are told.

But if you are loved, why does he destroy the things you work so diligently on? If you are loved, why is your body trembling so? If you are loved, why does it hurt?


End file.
